For Tom Felton
by Digitallace
Summary: A itty bitty story written for Tom Felton to read at an interview. Post-Battle Hogwarts confrontation. Drarry. Warning for boy snogs.


Author's Note: This was written at the behest of the lovely Betsy, who was going to try and make Tom Felton read it on her recent Megacon interview with him. Alas, there wasn't enough time, but maybe next year. In the meantime, you should all watch the interview, because it was Hil-A-Rious, but that's because Betsy is a funny and clever girl. (I've posted links on my latest LJ update) And while Tom didn't get a chance to read it, that doesn't mean you shouldn't, right?

Draco held his mother's wand steady between lithe fingers, careful not to show the barest tremble as he leveled it at Potter's famed scar. "You have until the count of three to surrender my wand, or so help me…."

"So help you _what_?" Potter demanded, emerald eyes boring into him, the wand in question peeking out from a denim pocket, nearly hidden by the filthy jumper the boy was wearing. Around them Hogwarts was in ruin, the smell of fire and death in the air. An eerie silence had settled over the Room of Requirement, a charred shell of its former glory. "What could you possibly do to me that a thousand other wizards just tried and failed?" he demanded.

The words were cocky, but the voice behind them was tired. Bone weary.

For just a moment, Draco felt his resolve waver. The belligerent boy in front of him was his enemy, his classmate…his savior. Not that he'd ever say as much to Potter. Still, in the wake of the last few hours, what possessed him to need one more battle?

Slowly, Draco lowered his wand. "Thank you," he said softly, feeling as if the words might choke him on their way out. "For killing the Dark Lord."

Harry merely blinked. "Pardon?"

"I'm not saying it again," Draco warned, scowling petulantly.

A cheeky grin broke out across Potter's face and the sudden mirth made his eyes spark to life behind his fractured spectacles. "Oh no, you really must."

Draco sneered and let out a huff of exasperation. His parents were waiting for him on the outskirts of Hogsmeade, but he could not leave without what he came for. "May I _please_ just have my wand back?"

Potter clutched his chest as if he were having an attack. "A _please_ and a _thank you_ in one day? Maybe I died in the forest after all," he teased. "Surely I must be hallucinating if Draco Malfoy is being polite to _me_!"

"Oh yes, ha ha. Have your laugh. Go on. Just give me back my wand. You've mended your own, you don't even need mine anymore!" Draco snarled, leaping forward to snatch his wand from the pocket that kept it safe.

Potter side-stepped him easily, keeping just out of reach, but Draco refused to give up. He turned all his strength and purpose toward reclaiming what was his. But as always, Potter was well matched for him, and within moments both boys were sweaty with exertion. In the distance a stack of burnt treasures shifted and toppled, crashing to the floor with a mighty thud, catching Potter's attention long enough for Draco to sneak in and snatch the wand from Potter's neglected pocket.

"HA!" he shouted triumphantly, but his victory was short lived.

Harry's grip on his hips was like a vice, his fingers digging in almost painfully as he held Draco to him and refused to let him wriggle free. Although, Draco had to admit, he wasn't trying very hard. "I would have given it to you, had you only asked nicely," Harry said, his voice a breathy whisper against Draco's cheek.

"I said please," Draco reminded, his heart pounding viciously in his throat.

"True," Harry agreed, "but only _after_ you snuck up on me in here and threatened me," he pointed out. "That's hardly nice."

Draco sagged in Harry's grasp, seeming to almost melt into him. "Fine. I'm sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Harry's smile was worth all the embarrassment the words cost him. "It's a start," Harry breathed, just before their lips met.

Draco didn't know for sure who had leaned in and closed that final gap. He'd wanted to, he knew, but there was very little courage in his heart, and surely all he did have had been spent in the battle. He was quite content in the fact that he had this fact to use against Potter should this turn out to be a giant ruse.

It was tender and brief, the barest brush of lips, but it held a power all the same. He felt somehow lighter afterward, as if Harry had taken some of Draco's sorrow onto his own shoulders to bear instead. He couldn't say later how long they'd stayed there, wrapped together in solemn silence, but he remembered clearly the thing that drove them apart.

A sharp clearing of a very familiar throat sounded from the gaping doors, and Granger stood there looking positively smug. Weasley was beside her, looking quite fish-like in his gaping, seeming as if he wanted someone to shake him from this nightmare.

"I should go," Draco said abruptly, gripping his wand tightly as he pulled free of and stalked toward the exit. He glanced back once to see Harry staring after him, no attention paid to his friends.

"I'll see you around," Harry called after him, lips quirked into a smile.

_I hope so_, Draco thought to himself as he pushed through Potter's guard dogs and went in search of his parents.

The End (Or is it?)


End file.
